Heart Strings

“You’re pregnant from the nose down!”

Lottie had taken it all in stride, even chuckling at her nickname. She glowed these days, relaxed and peaceful, always smiling.

I loved her new curves. The subtle fullness of her cheeks. The way her breasts overfilled my hands and the softness of her rounded hips. I especially loved the swell of my son she carried so heavily in front. Safe, protected, and deeply loved.

The day we found out it was a boy was one of the happiest I had ever known. I had stared at the ultrasound, unable to talk.

A son. We were having a son. For days, I carried around the picture, showing it to everyone, whether they wanted to see it or not. Lottie had been amused and, I was certain, secretly enjoying my excitement.

Lottie rolled up on her toes, meeting my mouth. “Hi.”

My hands went to her stomach. “How’s Nuggetman?”

“Active. I think he’s playing football.”

Bobby strolled in behind me, laughing. “I keep telling you, Lottie. He’s going to be a drummer. He’s practicing.”

“He needs to take a break,” she replied.

I laughed and rubbed her tummy. “Settle down, little man. Give Mommy a break.”

Lottie sighed and ran a hand over her neck. She looked tired today. I wanted her to give up coming in, but she loved the coffee shop. The atmosphere and the baking. Talking to people, trying new recipes. Brianna’s vision for the place was working. Business was good—busier all the time as word of mouth spread. Lottie’s cookies, slices, and mini pies were sold out every day. She had two bakers now just to keep up.

Jo-Jo came from the back, a smile breaking out on her face. “Logan, my boy!”

I laughed at her nickname, knowing it would forever stick. We had come a long way in the past months, growing closer as the time passed, and I had become incredibly fond of her. I was her boy, and she was simply Jo-Jo.

When I had arrived with Lottie to the holiday party, I was unsure if I should even be there with her. I was still concerned about her father’s reaction. He had been polite, shook my hand as we walked in, but otherwise was silent. It was her mother who took me by the arm, introducing me as Lottie’s fiancé. She made sure I was comfortable. Sat beside me at dinner, a pleasant distraction from the quiet demeanor of Charles. When I asked her to dance, she had been light on her feet, obviously enjoying the music, and we had taken to the dance floor more than once. She quietly told me that Lottie’s father was more embarrassed at himself than he would admit, and she appreciated the patience I was showing. Her words bolstered me, and I assured her I would continue to try to get along with him.

For the next few months, Lottie’s father and I were polite with each other, but there was no doubt bad feelings still lingered on both our sides and it would take a while for them to be resolved. We had met a couple of times, the conversation stilted. He offered an awkward apology, and for Lottie’s sake, I accepted it. We were more comfortable when Lottie and Jo-Jo were with us, and slowly, we’d been building a rapport. I often sought out his opinion, which seemed to help him open up more. The last month had been a turning point with us spending a lot of time together, and I hoped we continued in that forward direction. I knew how much it meant to both Lottie and Jo-Jo.

No one was more shocked than Lottie when her mom asked Brianna if she could help out in the shop. Jo-Jo was a proficient baker and enjoyed coming in and working with Lottie. They had grown closer as the months progressed, and I loved seeing the happiness it brought Lottie. She had attended a few of her mother’s therapy sessions, which seemed to benefit both of them. Lottie had gone to some therapy on her own, and it helped bring her closure to losing Josh. She was far more at ease with the past now and able to move forward without guilt. Jo-Jo tried so hard to be a part of our lives. Exclaiming over ultrasound pictures, dropping by for visits, and bringing Lottie’s favorite meals from when she was a child. Insisting on Thursday night dinners and making plans for when the baby was born. She always requested I make her tea when she visited and never once made a comment over the mug or the sugar I added. She always patted my cheek and smiled, informing me it was the best cup she’d had all week. Her praise made me smile.

Lottie laughed when she told me how her mom boasted about her dreamy son-in-law to her friends who came into the shop. Went on about being a nana. The nursery was full of gifts from her already—onesies, outfits, tiny socks, coats, and jackets. Stuffed animals. She’d begged to be allowed to buy the furniture, insisting as grandparents, it was their right. I couldn’t refuse since it made her happy, and Lottie was overjoyed. How Charles felt about it, I had no idea. He was happy about being a grandpa, an ultrasound picture proudly displayed on his desk. His face had been filled with wonder when Lottie grabbed his hand and he felt the baby kicking. A tender, wistful expression had crossed his face, and for a moment, I saw the pain he hid. It made it easier to reach out to him.